Current mood:

drained

And so it is...
In the far West of the World there is a house made out of sorrow. It is gray as the twilight of the world and sways with the music of the Valar. In the far west of the house there is a wall made out of windows. There sits Nienna, during the dark hour of destruction. Her gaze is stormy and unblinking, and from her sitting room in the West she sees all the grief of the world. And the Lady of Tears finds that she has no more voice to lament.

Winds drift wild across the far seas and tear through the lands of Arda. Their voices howl so loudly, piping up in vain and I know not how to answer them. I've been here too long, that I know now. Too long have stayed as Queen of my bleak borne rather than venture into the bright and glittering Valinor.

I would say that it is time to play my part in this reckoning of the Valar. Yet I have no part to play. Wrath and vengance are not of me, no, I am forgiveness and always my precious grief. So why is it now that there are no tears left to cry? Why now is there weariness in place of grief? Perhaps because... I understand. At least a little, and am grateful it was not my hand to strike.

Tearless eyes shut, she rose in grace and looked not out into the bleeding world. Tired and cold, Nienna left her home in the far West to see Valinor once more.